Savannah drops her head to her arm that’s now resting on the back of the couch, and only because I know her like the back of my hand, I know she’s picking up that something’s off.
“Do you have plans today?” I ask before she can dig any deeper.
“Nope.” She pops the P while stretching her arms over her head again.
“Oh, good, because I’m going to see Rosie tomorrow afternoon, so we need to do our annual last-weekend-before-the-semester-starts rot sesh today, instead of tomorrow.”
The room fills with the nutty scent of the freshly-brewed coffee. I throw my hair up in a loose ponytail, grab Savannah’s decaf and my double caf, and head back to the living room. She takes her favorite black mug with the green thirty-three on it, and I drop down onto the couch, cozying up beside her.
“Ready?” I pick up the remote and take a sip of my coffee.
“Aye,” she responds in a surprisingly good Irish accent.
2
maverick
The warm lakewater laps across my fingers as I drape my arms over the side of my float. Noah lies sprawled out on his inner tube beside me with his eyes closed, soaking up the final days of summer. Technically, we still have a few weeks left, but with practice officially back, it’s the end ofoursummer.
The last two months have been nothing but days spent on the lake, nights spent at Rowdy’s, and weekends spent camping. None of the boys have outright said this is our last summer together, but there’s been a silent understanding, and in response to that, we’ve upped our usual antics the last few weeks. Between Silas going off to work for his family after graduation, Gabe and Parker still having another year left, Noah and I are the only two staying together…so long as I don’t fuck anything up.
A woodpecker is going crazy somewhere nearby, but I can still make out Silas coming down the dock without needing to look. The wood creaks beneath him as he sits on the ledge—black swim trunks, backward hat, tattoos covering his chest, arms, and one leg. The non-inked leg hangs over the water, and his sunglasses hide any expression he might have.
“Beer?” his monotone voice calls out.
I shake my head, and he tosses the can over my head to Noah, who catches it without so much as cracking an eye open.
“Alright, boys. I’m out.” I slide off the float. Noah bounces in my waves, and I slice through the water, pulling myself onto the dock.
“You going to pick up the kegs?” Silas asks, taking a sip of his beer. “I’ll come with you.”
“Nah. I gotta shower and get that paperwork dropped off for those volunteer hours.”
“Ten bucks says he just doesn’t want to help us set up for tonight,” Noah chimes in, finally sitting up and opening his eyes.
“You boys should take some of the blame for this. I told you last semester to come up with a reason to get me out of this class.” I dry my chest with the beach towel before wrapping it around my waist.
“Was that before or after you claimed weekends at Rowdy’sshould be considered community service?” Silas asks around the lip of his beer.
“Before. After was when you told us you put your dick into a Letty Ortiz look-a-like in the bathroom.”
He holds his can with his thumb and middle finger, flipping me off as he takes another drink. Noah barks out a laugh, and I flash them both a toothy grin before turning on my heel and heading up to the house.
Creekside Care Home looks more like the set from those soap operas my mom used to watch than what I assumed a senior living center to look like. A round wooden table sits in the middle of the entryway with blue flowers in a vase the size ofthe Stanley Cup on it. After all the volunteer spots at the animal shelter got picked, it was either the library or Creekside, and I don’t think I was made for quietly shelving dusty books all day, so Creekside won out. I wouldn’t say I spent a lot of time imagining what this place would look like, but in the quick minute and a half I did put images in my head, they were gloomy and sad. They didn’t have a very nice smell either. But this place is bright, sunny, and clean. It even smells good.
“Can I help you?”
I turn toward the front desk, where a brunette who can’t be much older than me sits. “Hi.” I stroll over to her. “I’m here for my tour. I’ve been emailing with Monica. She said to come in at three to turn in my paperwork so I could get started.”
“You must be Maverick, I’m Monica.” She hops from the stool, rounds the desk, and extends her hand.
“Nice to officially meet you, Monica.” I take her hand, flashing the grin I’m known for, and her tan cheeks tinge pink in response.
“Did you plan on starting your hours today? I have a little time now; I could do you—” She chokes. “Do your tour. I could do your tour now,” she clarifies.
“Will it count toward my twenty-five hours?”
“Yes.”
